


the further from my side you go.

by redhoods



Series: beast of gautier. [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: When he moves now, it’s like he’s prowling, Felix can see the wolf in him, the low dip of his shoulders as he strides forward, “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday this year,” he says, “consider it a very late gift.”Everything about the way Sylvain is moving reads predator, until he’s close, thighs against the edge of the desk, standing between Felix’s knees, “I thought you were my very late gift,” he replies finally, quiet. His gaze goes soft though as he brings a hand up, rubs his thumb across Felix’s cheek.Felix tilts into his touch with a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry I missed so many moons.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: beast of gautier. [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514861
Comments: 6
Kudos: 179





	the further from my side you go.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first piece to come out of order of the timeline, but i'm not sorry. this is set shortly after the pre timeskip portion of the game. and i just have a lot of feelings about that five year period.
> 
> also this is dedicated to the person who sent me a kofi for this series yesterday. thank you so much. merry late christmas.
> 
> title from and if my heart should somehow stop by james vincent mcmorrow.

IMPERIAL YEAR 1181  
GUARDIAN MOON  
GAUTIER

“I got you something,” Felix says, when the silence has become too oppressive even for him, watching Sylvain pace loose circles of his chambers. His hair is getting long again, almost in his face, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or two either.

His eyes are bruise dark and Felix knows it’s going to be a rough night.

Sylvain’s pacing slows by increments before he finally stops, dark gaze sweeping towards where Felix is perched on his desk. His nostrils flare before he rolls his shoulders, exhales loud, tries to rouse a grin from somewhere, but even his reserves are depleted these days, “Aren’t I supposed to be getting you something?” 

When he moves now, it’s like he’s prowling, Felix can see the wolf in him, the low dip of his shoulders as he strides forward, “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday this year,” he says, “consider it a very late gift.”

Everything about the way Sylvain is moving reads predator, until he’s close, thighs against the edge of the desk, standing between Felix’s knees, “I thought you were my very late gift,” he replies finally, quiet. His gaze goes soft, molten, as he brings a hand up, rubs his thumb across Felix’s cheek.

Felix tilts into his touch with a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry I missed so many moons.”

Sylvain scoffs at him, “You have a duty. As do I.”

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that Felix is the first to bubble over, to snap, reaching out to grab Sylvain by the placket of the padded coat he’s wearing, hauling him in until they’re nose to nose, “You idiot,” he hisses.

This close, Sylvain smells like outdoors, snow and pine and the barest hint of citrus, and he’s wind chapped across the bridge of his nose. It makes his freckles stand out further, makes his eyes seem brighter, despite the dark smudging under them. His expression is amused. “We established that a long time ago, Fe,” he says, palms warm when the curve over Felix’s thighs, “What have I said wrong this time?”

“Fuck duty,” Felix says, refuses to relent his grip when Sylvain tries to pull back to go on another one of his noble rants—

almost as bad as Von Aegir or Gloucester, though Felix won’t say it to his face

—and locks his legs around Sylvain’s hips, “We are losing this war, Sylvain,” he declares when their noses are nearly touching. He’s certainly got Sylvain’s undivided attention now, “If it came down to dying for duty,” he spits the words, foul and caustic, “or _you_ ,” he scoffs, “it’s always going to be you, ‘Vain.”

And Sylvain whines, a high sound that Felix has only ever heard a handful of times, “Felix,” he says, low. ( _It’s Conand Tower and it’s raining and Sylvain is covered in his brother’s blood..._ )

“Don’t,” Felix warns.

Sylvain only presses closer, head dipping until his face is against Felix’s throat, “Felix,” he says again, voice a rumble in his chest where they’re pressed together, but it’s not really his voice, it’s that he’s starting to laugh. His shoulders shake with it, fingers flexing against Felix’s thighs in a way that’s going to bruise, “Goddess, Felix,” he muffles, nose against Felix’s pulse point.

Flicking his ear, Felix still slides his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders, “What’s so fucking funny, Gautier?”

Teeth scrape his neck, a threat or a promise, he’s not sure which.

“Last moon,” Sylvain doesn’t pull away, lips brushing against his throat as he speaks, grip going easy on his thighs, thumbs rubbing like an apology, “I made it into Fraldarius territory before I passed out.”

Felix slides his hand into Sylvain’s hair, tugs mean until Sylvain pulls back to meet his gaze. His pupils are huge, swallowing up the brown, “You were at the border,” he says flat, “you were at the fucking border, Sylvain,” but Sylvain only grins at him, “You giant moron,” he adds.

Then kisses him.

Sylvain wastes no time, nipping at his lip too hard, pressing in to lick in his mouth, a low growl rolling in his chest when Felix pulls at his hair again. Then Sylvain’s hands are on his hips drawing him to the edge of the desk and they both part from the kiss to groan.

“Goddess,” Sylvain says on a sudden exhale and Felix knocks his forehead off of Sylvain’s breastbone. It makes Sylvain laugh though and there are fingers in his hair, pulling the tie out so it tumbles loose around his shoulders.

He grumbles out a complaint that falls flat if only because he presses his head into the scrape of Sylvain’s nails against his scalp, “How long?”

“We should leave now,” Sylvain answers, without making any immediate move to pull away.

“I don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon,” Felix offers.

Sylvain hums, tugs at his hair this time, “Good,” he says quietly, then pulls back slowly, gaze dark as it sweeps over Felix, still situated on the edge of the desk, “You sure you weren’t my gift?”

Felix scoffs at him, sliding off the desk, proud of the fact that his legs don’t wobble as he steps away to scoop up the bag they packed for their trek into the forest, “I brought you more of my blankets,” he explains, back to Sylvain as he heads for the door.

There’s a moment where he thinks that Sylvain isn’t following, but fingers pry the bag from his hand and he hadn’t even heard him approach. “Going soft on me, Fraldarius?” He asks, like he’s not the one that links their fingers between them, swinging their arms as they descend out of the manor and out into the snow.

Tilting his head back, Felix peers up at the moon, full and bright and seemingly close enough to touch, “Only for you, Gautier.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'll probably backtrack for the next pieces. gotta do the ball and rodrigue showing up and all that good stuff.
> 
> i'm [@vowofenmity](https://twitter.com/vowofenmity) on twitter.


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